


Home and Hearth

by simplyprologue



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, New Caprica, PWP, Shameless Smut, Well... as fluffy as you'll get from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/pseuds/simplyprologue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill began building his home in Laura far earlier than he had realized. It's morning on New Caprica, and the Admiral is grounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home and Hearth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PercySnail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PercySnail/gifts).



> **A/N:** This was supposed to be a five sentence response to a tumblr meme. Although, Rachel clearly knew that New Caprica is my Achilles Heel and that I would probably be inclined to blowing her prompt up. Oops.

Bill didn't ask where she got the second mattress from, and he suspected the queen-sized bed frame constructed from misappropriated welding supplies and timber was a show of fealty from his former deck crew.

Laura dozed as the storm entered its tenth hour--the rain and wind and thunder having entrenched itself over the pitiable mortals who had decided to make this nebula their wayward home--stretched out beside him, the blankets rucked down around her hips. If the scientists were correct, this storm could continue on for days. But there, and then, Bill couldn’t remember why he had used that as a protest to Baltar’s office against coming down for what had turned out to be a predictably fruitless meeting.

Bill had been awake for half an hour at most, his time spent in the study of the woman sleeping next to him. He carefully considered the curve of her waist, the soft skin of her ribs, her breasts, with the fingers of one hand. The ground rumbled under their rattletrap nest; the rain beat down onto canvas, and one particularly-close bolt of lightning incited Laura to, at last, open her eyes. She smiled lazily up at him, shifting on her back with a shivering stretch of well-used muscles, basking in Bill's affectionate and appreciative gaze. His fingers tripped over her ribs as she arched her back, skin sliding over muscle under his hands.

"Hello," Laura said lowly, wrapping her arms around Bill's neck and letting him pull her closer. Draping herself over his chest, she pressed into him, warm skin against warm skin.

He slid his hands up and down the curve of her spine, her skin the warmth in his veins. "Sleep well?"

The lantern had burned low, but the small furnace ubiquitous to the tents in this flimsy city on these winter nights was throwing off enough heat and light. Occasionally, rain found its way down the chimney, making the logs emit soft hisses and pops. It was in the contrast of the violent storm to the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, her voice, soft like water in his ear, that drove him. The contrast between the rain and sleet and this golden world; Laura had her cabin, but he had the tender spot under her ear, the clapboard of her ribs, the curve of her elbow, or under her knees. He had never built a home before, let alone in another person. _Running, just like Kara._

Laura was more than just his girl in port.

Laura sighed, and murmured yes in his ear as she fought the urge to go back to sleep. Turning her head, she sought out his lips blindly, but not without accuracy. Bill rolled so she was sprawled out on top of him; combed his fingers through her hair, holding it back from her face. Giggling, Laura traced his bottom lip with her tongue. She laughed when, without warning, he opened his mouth to her, sucking her tongue into his mouth and flipping her onto her back in one deliberate motion.

Opening her legs to him, she rubbed his calves with the soles of her feet. Her laughter quieted when he reached for her elbows, and died out completely when he trailed his palms up her arms to stretch them over her head, covered her palms with his, and laced their fingers together.

Laura sighed her contentment into his mouth and, pressing her thighs into the sides of his hips, rocked herself against him until his hips answered, the underside of hardening erection pressed into the crease where her pelvis met the tops of her leg. Kissing Laura was drugging, more powerful than any stim he took in the first war; she had a way of making his thoughts opaque, his limbs heady. Having now proved herself to be a thorough and worthy distraction even when her mouth wasn’t engaged against his own, he was thankful that they had restrained themselves from this particular activity, at least, until now.  

Lightning crashed again, startling them apart; Bill looked down breathlessly at her.

 _Lords_ , she was beautiful, here is this world of golden light, isolated by rain and the anger of distant gods. Hair spread out like banked embers on the pillow, skin flushed and pupils blown wide with arousal, she looked up at him, an unhurried and affectionate smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Bill looked for a few moments more, until her eyes pulled him slowly back down to her, and he took care to take her lower lip into his mouth before seeking out the point of her chin with open-mouthed kisses, before trailing his lips down the middle of her throat to where he could feel the beginning of a pleased moan.

He could feel her behind his eyes, in his bloodstream, as thunder shook the ground under them and he kissed his way back to her mouth and Laura freed her hands to tunnel her fingers through his hair.

"Let me," she whispered into the corner of his mouth, rolling him onto his back and rising on top of him. Bill watched, enchanted as she shook out her hair with one hand while she traced up the scar bisecting his chest with the other, watching him with half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smile. Reaching under her, she cupped his erection, stroking it from root to stem before settling herself over it.

Her smile grew wider when his hands meandered up her belly to cup her breasts, circle her nipples with his thumbs. "Of course," he rumbled, planting his feet and thrusting his length through her wet folds, coating himself with her arousal.

Throwing her head back, Laura rose up onto her knees, grasping his erection and aligning it with her opening. Her chest rose as she breathed in her pleasure, and Bill watched as she bit her lip and lowered herself onto him. Head still tilted back, she looked down at him, a mellifluous gasp escaping her throat when she opened her legs further, knees sliding outwards until she felt the wiry curls at his base against her clit.

It was quiet between them for minute, as they breathed together, adjusting. Eyelids fluttering, Laura canted her hips forward. Her curls, turned wild from the humidity and their previous exertion, tumbled over her shoulders, long, uncut, and untamed.

The storm must have been directly above them, then: the noise deafening, the walls of her tent stretched taut like a kite in the wind. It was then that she began to move over him, fingers fanning out over his muscled chest. Her back arched and Bill wanted to feel her--stretched ligaments and tight muscles and fine bones.

Catching the movements of her hips with his own, they moved fluidly. Arousal built between them like the lightning crackling outside: both in small steps and large bounds. His fingers slid over her sweat-slick skin, molding his fingers down the sides of her chest, her waist, her hips, grasping and releasing. He trailed his hand down to where they were joined, riding his thumb over the over-sensitive bundle of nerves he found there, his control threatening to break when she didn’t take her eyes from his the entire time; she cried out his name, and trembled. He could feel her stomach muscles quivering under his hand.

The roar of the storm drowned out any noise they were making, forcing them to rely on their shaking hands and trembling bodies, eyes being slid shut and then blown wide open. But when she tightened herself around him and the lines demarcating the column of throat belied a moan, he called her name out anyway.

Her eyes went to his face like she had heard him; Laura bit her lip in concentration, and when his free hand moved to push her hair back over her shoulders she leaned down and kissed him. When he began to thrust up into her again, it became less of a kiss--her lips rested on top of his, and they shared a breath between them, and when one of them could be reminded of it, a tongue flicked out to caress the inside of the other's mouth, or the curve of a lip.

It was voltaic--her breasts pressed into his chest, her fingers grasping at his shoulders, his biceps, reaching for his hands and pulling them above his head in a mirror reversal of before--and he knew they were both forced onto uncertain ground with it. Laura whimpered, pulled her mouth from his with a keening breath, and tucked her face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, releasing his hands to bury her own back in his hair.

"That's it," he rasped into her ear, sweeping her hair off of her shoulders, focusing on the grip of her fingers in his hair and the trembling of her stomach against his own rather than swirl of arousal building in the base of his spine, or the feel of his cock sliding through her wetness. She was so wet it was almost frictionless, but still so, so tight. "Come on, Laura. Come on."

A moan ripped from her throat, and he felt it as much as he heard it.

Rising up onto her elbows, Laura looked at him with something like challenge in her eyes, a crooked smile on her lips. He found he had a matching one on his own. Working her hips in rhythm with his, she clenched down onto his hardness until the smile left his face and, with his hands coming to clasp her waist as his anchor, Bill threw his head back and groaned with need.

"Laura!"

She laughed; he growled, wrapping his arms around her middle and rolled them again, rising up onto his knees to pound into her even as the sensation threatened to overwhelm him. Laura answered with a surprised yelp, moaning when Bill grabbed one of her knees and opened the cradle of her legs wider, pinning her leg with unrestrained strength.

"Oh gods," she cried, baring her throat to him, wrapping her free leg around his hips, her heel pressing into ass, urging him on. He pushed her higher, higher, from want into need, into the dazed, uncentered confusion of almost-pleasure, making her cry out hoarsely before finally dropping his hips against hers and, looking into her eyes the entire time, toppling her into climax.

He wrangled his self-control just enough to allow him to wait for her to return to herself; he stroked circles into insides of her hips while her legs trembled, trailed a chain of kisses down the curve of her jaw while she gasped and panted. When she at last giggled breathlessly he waited even further still, until she nosed his cheekbone and encouraged him to bring his mouth back to hers.

"Come on," she whispered playfully, before nipping at his lips. With unexpected strength, she used the leg wrapped around his hip to roll him flat onto his back. Wasting no time, she squeezed him with her inner muscles, rising up onto her knees to wrest his control away from him.

(Not, of course, that Bill particularly _minded_.)

Straightening and stretching, Laura elongated the lines of her body, leaning back to brace herself on one hand on a strong thighs, her other hand collecting her curls and holding them away from her flushed and sweat-soaked neck and shoulders.

"Frak, you're beautiful," he said, admiring her lithe form. She smiled wryly down at him, and he knew her well-enough that she was appreciative, but still thought him a bit silly. They were, as she had said before, too old to be carrying on like lovestruck teenagers, a pursuit best left to his son's set. But even still, she was beautiful, and for however long the rain carried on and kept the military from getting raptors in the air, she was his.

It was safe, for both of them, no matter how strong the feelings grew, what with space and titles between them. But shore leaves only made it headier, and the letters and gifted books ferried through supply shipments lent it more permanence than any ring he ever wore. Distance only led them to have less restraint, even if Laura could never say anything without disguising it first as something else. Not, of course, as he thought of the carefully-chosen books he sent to her, that he was any less nubilous with his intentions. He couldn’t be certain if it was for her sake or his own.

But he could read her better than he used to be able to. He doesn't pretend to know all of Laura Roslin's tightly-held secrets, but he knows how she _feels_ , what her enigmatic smiles and little hums mean.

Words--his own, at least--always felt cheap in comparison.

 _I love you_. Had, for awhile, and would, for however long he was able. She made him want to stand still, made being planetside bareable. 

She began to move, and chased his thoughts his away. Even with the wind battering at the sides of the tent, he could hear the wet slap of flesh, the crackling of the fire. _Home and hearth._ Laura put his hands on her hips; he tugged her closer, until she smiled openly and, tossing her hair over one shoulder, met his hands once more to lace their fingers together.

"Like this?" she asked, now circling her hips on her descent, but all he could think was _gods she's beautiful_ , lips swollen and nipples reddened, the sheet on the bed still somehow around her hips and his legs, her complexion bathed in firelight.

He groaned his assent, and she used his hands leverage to take him to completion. As his mind fogged over and hips jerked uncontrollably, all he could hear were her loving murmurs, whispered close to his ear. When the tremors rippling through his thighs and abdomen finally subsided minutes later, she slid off of him, but kept one leg slung over his waist.

"Don't go back to sleep," she said with a laugh, propping herself upon an elbow so she could push his hair back off of his forehead as his breathing slowly evened out.

"Didn't you cancel class?" he answered, eyes still closed, but fingers no longer numb. He used them to brush through her hair, a favorite (albeit, new) pastime of his that he didn't get to indulge in as often as he would like. "I distinctly remember that inclement weather days were for sleeping in, Dr. Roslin."

"You're my pupil today, and I want you to read to me, William," Laura giggled, kissing the tip of his nose. "Besides, _Admiral_ , aren't you military sorts programmed to get up at a certain time? It's past nine."

"Regs are different for when a certain insatiable redhead has kept you up for most of the night," he responded, unsmiling, but the look in his eyes was unmistakably teasing.

She hummed, wrinkling her nose down at him. "I seem to remember you having no objections."

"I'm afraid I'm not as good a multitasker as you," Bill said with a snort, ignoring her reply in favor of her first comment. There was a moment of silence as they both remembered how the night before she had straddled him while reading one of the mystery novels he had brought for her aloud. Then she giggled again, and slipped out of bed, reached down for his tanks, and slipped them over her head. "Those look good on you.”

"I hadn't noticed," she answered drolly, as if she hadn't caught him leering at her when she'd worn them the night before, or any night before that.

Turning onto his side, he watched as she cleaned herself before throwing him a washcloth to do the same. It was good, whatever they had between them. They had been instantly familiar, their first intimacies built over bare-boned survival, battle tactics, and fleet resources, their second over cubit paperback novels, contraband substances, and shared worries over what else of humanity would survive, besides their bodies. Memories, and things they used to enjoy, and then more.

The second had not eclipsed the first, but simply allowed him to peel back the leader to see the first glimpses of a very private woman who had long relied on facades to get by.

She smiled at him as she fixed tea, self-consciously tucking her hair behind her ears.

 _Home and hearth_ , busying herself with breakfast in this golden little world that kept together by bad vis and the fragility of no-one-needing-them-at-that-particular-moment. It would be over, and his next shore leave wouldn’t be for months.

(He had only protested coming down to the surface because he wouldn’t be able to see _her,_ the way the meeting was scheduled, and the thought of being on solid ground without being able to see her was torturous. Baltar knew about them. Of course he knew, but he couldn't _prove_ it. The meeting had wound up being delayed, and his claims of being waylaid by the storm had come true, like he had wanted them to, but not in any way he could have justified it to frakking Baltar.) 

And they would wait.

Laura’s home was Earth. She wouldn’t be free until Earth; but he would never be free of _her_. He had already begun to build the first fragile, tenuous, lovely fortifications of home in her before he could realize, before he saw her dying in her bed an Admiral and an election ago. He would wait, until she could lay down her burdens in their entirety.

And then he’d build her her damn cabin.

The storm raged on outside of Laura's tent, the haphazard place where his home lived, and Bill was happy to stay grounded for as long as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
